A bark of laughter, quickly smothered, met this explanation. Dutch glared round angrily.
“That prospect hole must have landed on you hard,” Hugh told him grimly. “Take my advice. Don’t fall down any more. Next time the shaft might shoot a hole through you.”
“I ain’t scared of you none. You can’t run on me,” Dutch growled sulkily, to save his face. “One o’ these days I’m liable to get tired of you and feed you to the buzzards.”
“Yes, I know you’re chief here, same as you were at Virginia and Aurora. But just to show there’s no hard feelings you’ll help Uncle Ned tack up that poster, won’t you?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Again Dutch’s sullen eyes battled and were beaten. “I don’t have to,” he flung out rebelliously.
“Not at all,” Hugh mocked. “But out of good will you’ll do it.”
The ruffian shuffled across the road, snatched a bill from the old Negro, and with a hammer drove a tack through the middle of it.
Out of the Mammoth walked a big well-dressed man without a hat. He had black glossy hair and a small black moustache. In his manner and bearing was that dominance which comes to those who are successful. With a glance he took in the situation.